


Find Me Inside Me

by SpunSugar



Series: Asexual Yuuri and/or Victor [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Asexual! Victor, Asexual! Victor Nikiforov, Asexuality, Coming Out- to yourself, Identity confusion, Kink, M/M, Multi, Self-Discovery, Service Sub, Stammi Vicino gets a 2nd secret meaning, Sub!Victor, Uncomfortable sexual scenarios, Yuuri gets a happy ending, mild BDSM roles, sorry Christophe, toxic relationship dynamics, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-01 19:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16771249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpunSugar/pseuds/SpunSugar
Summary: Victor used to feel quite confident in his understanding of himself. Or at least, unworried. Things changed as he grew up. People became complicated, and Victor found himself obsessing over how to please them, but somehow always falling short. With Yuuri, Victor has finally begun to feel comfortable asserting what he wants.





	Find Me Inside Me

‘Coming out’ wasn’t what Victor had expected.

The whole gay thing? Sure, no big deal. He’d started dating other boys at a young age, and hadn’t really thought all that much about it since, in spite of the tense climate around gay relationships in his home country at the time. Sometimes Russia seemed so far away from him, now, it was like another world, anyways.

‘Gay?’ Sure. He supposed. He didn’t really mind the label. But it wasn’t quite like he had adopted it for himself, either. He just liked that junior skater with the tight, dark curls, and broad shoulders, who… was also a boy.

And that boy had insisted with a startling ferocity, from the start, that they hide their relationship from the others. From their coach, from the press… That was the hard part, really. Victor hadn’t been good at keeping secrets back then. (Not that anyone would have been surprised that the bubbly, long-haired figure skater- who was often mistaken for a girl- had a boyfriend.)

That fear that wasn’t Victor’s, the weight of their silence, pressed in around him as time passed, until it was suffocating. It weighed him down during practice. What had started as a thrilling flutter in Victor’s chest, like _just_ catching himself after landing a new jump, had become a sense of dread and guilt that made the days soon feel unbearably long.

Eventually, the other boy broke it off. Victor wasn’t even sure why. But he was secretly relieved. He had grown bored of hiding. His only lingering regret was that they’d never even held hands. He’d wanted to feel what it was like…

The days stayed long after that, like someone had stretched them out too far and they couldn’t return to their previous form. Like old tights. For a while, Victor forgot about ‘gay,’ forgot about dating, forgot about the other boy entirely. For a while, he just skated. It wasn’t until he started to notice the girls around him lingering after practice and behaving in new, strange ways- like sneaking photographs of him from behind the boards- that the thought of dating crossed his mind again. It could be a bit awkward at the rink after that, but at times, it was flattering. It broke up the routine, at least.

So… not ‘gay?’ Argh, it was too confusing.

Victor pushed it out of his mind and told himself it was a non-issue, until he found himself splayed on the ice one afternoon, clutching his knee and getting chewed out by Yakov for skating with his head in the clouds.

The stakes were getting more serious with each passing season, and Victor found himself retreating steadily inwards to both seek, and avoid, any distraction.

And then, as if he had woken up inside of a dream, Victor was suddenly winning medals. And suitors. One, after another, after another.

So he dated a few people. It felt almost necessary to, after a while. But none of his relationships lasted for long. There always seemed to be some kind of invisible pit between him and his partner- a pit which he felt obligated to fill, but never could. Victor would give whatever he thought was expected of him- emotionally, sexually- all the while feeling the dark edges of a hollow spreading in his chest. And every single time, no matter what he did, it ended the same way; they would leave suddenly, angrily, and Victor would be left wondering if there had really been anything good about him in the first place…

_‘Spoilt.’ ‘Self-absorbed.’ ‘Rude.’ ‘Cold.’_

_‘You completely shut down during sex and I do all of the work!’_

Even though he knew it wouldn’t make a difference, Victor had begged on more than one occasion, and made a fool of himself- begged for more explanations, for chances- on the small odds that one of his partners would stay. There had to be something that he could fix. Things weren’t supposed to go this way.

He’d started having nightmares: dreams of skating, a dark blue light encroaching on him from all sides, and the ice melting away underneath his feet, the rink dropping open into a great, black abyss, and falling- ! He would wake up feeling like his stomach had leapt into his throat, and grasp around in the dark until he could feel Makkachin’s curly fur and slow, rising breaths under his hands.

With each new romantic partner, Victor pushed himself a little harder to please, to be what he imagined to be ‘perfect,’ until it felt like relationships were just another performance and he was never really off the ice. When that empty feeling started to creep into his skating- a somberness that even his fans couldn’t miss- Victor decided to give up on relationships and returned to his solitude, wishing he hadn’t tried at all.

He tried to convince himself he’d never wanted any different. He could smile for the cameras and portray the charming, unattainable bachelor he was supposed to be (he’d even been featured, shirtless and smiling, in an international magazine, as the ‘Sexiest Man Alive’). That way, everyone’s expectations of him would remain undashed. Everyone would be satisfied.

But he felt broken.

And with the new distance he had created around himself, all of his interactions had become somewhat transactional. He didn’t know how to talk to the other skaters anymore. Well… Yuri Plisetsky didn’t seem intimidated, but Victor would’ve classified his conversations with the teen more as harassment than anything else. Even Christophe seemed far away lately. He’d found a boyfriend. Not that Victor would begrudge him that.

He’d almost messed things up with Chris, a few years back... Badly.

That night, Victor had spread himself lazily across Christophe’s hotel bed, scratchy complimentary robe hanging precariously from his soft shoulders, skin still smelling of luxury soaps and moisturizers.

Christophe was hovering around the room, perching half-heartedly on different pieces of furniture, boasting the dirtiest gossip he could think of in attempt to make Victor laugh loud enough to wake the neighboring guests. Christophe’s words were slurring and dipping a bit into French here and there as he threatened most of the carpet with the way he was flinging around a half-full wine glass.

It wasn’t unusual for them to congregate like this in one another’s room in the nights leading up to a competition. It accounted for most of the time they’d ever gotten to spend with one another in-person. But something was different about that night. It somehow felt like their adolescent years as friends had been a whirlwind, and every chaotic moment had been leading up to this. It was like a horrible natural disaster that Victor could do nothing to stop.

Chris had insisted on drinking “to celebrate their reunion,” and, well, Victor wasn’t one to let a friend drink alone. He had expected a laidback evening of bickering over foreign television, or even sneaking into the indoor pool after hours… He had expected, maybe, for Chris to cling to him playfully, or challenge him to compare their muscle tone, or offer to massage his neck and back, as had happened many times before, but that night Chris was keeping his distance, keeping his hands to himself, and the uncharacteristic nature of it stirred up Victor’s concern and curiosity. But something about the sharp, deep, almost guilty-looking gaze that Christophe kept fixing on him from across the room as he downed _another_ glass of wine kept Victor silent.

“Oh, look- he’s not even listening to my stories, he’s just modeling the latest in hotel couture, ladies and gentleman,” Christophe taunted, letting out a big laugh, but to Victor it sounded somewhat strained. “How do you manage to make the worst look so appealing? Damn you,” Christophe smiled, eyes looking too dark and shiny behind his round glasses.

Victor smirked, dragging himself torturously slowly to the foot of the bed, and shrugged a shoulder, letting the robe fall, sliding further down his arm and exposing some of his ribs as if by design.

“Maybe I just want to look sexy for you,” Victor replied in a low, hard voice, hoping to lighten the mood. But he didn’t get the reaction he was hoping for. Instead, Christophe seemed to flounder in front of him, lips parting and closing in a speechlessness that Victor had never observed in the Swiss skater.

“Well, you’ve succeeded,” Chris finally managed, though it came out more like a whisper, and suddenly he was on his knees in front of Victor as if he’d been there all evening, and his hands were reverently tracing the insides of Victor’s long legs, smoothing their way up, up, the warm skin towards the hem of his robe- “Victor…” Chris was rubbing his flushed face into the bend of Victor’s knee, his stubble scraping the pale flesh and leaving small stinging sensations. “Don’t you think it’s better to have a taste, instead of just teasing like this all the time?”

Victor’s head was clouding up and he suddenly felt drunk, though he’d hardly touched the wine himself-

“We have time before the competition…” Chris had dragged his face dangerously close to Victor’s crotch and his breath was hot through the thin cotton.

Victor shifted where he sat but Christophe kept pressing closer. There was no escape. Alcohol fumes were mingling with droplets of sweat in the hair at Christophe’s nape. He was sweating-?

“Victor… I have to know how you taste-”

Chris groaned as he felt Victor’s fingers grip his shoulders tightly, but before he could duck his head to Victor’s cock he was shoved roughly back, nearly losing his balance on the floor.

Victor was standing now, hands still frozen out in front of him like a ward.

“I-”

They stared at each other for one long moment.

Suddenly Christophe’s face was tense and he looked like a wounded, wild animal, scrambling for stability as he got to his feet.

“Well,” he huffed, intentionally over-dramatic, but the humor was utterly lost to the quiet of the room.

“Chris, I-” Victor was desperate for words. His friend’s expression was like a stab to the chest. “You’re drunk-”

“No worries, point taken,” Chris assured, ushering Victor to the door with uneven steps. “Let’s just say ‘goodnight’ here.”

“Hold on, wait-” Victor protested, but the door was already being bolted shut behind him.

He stood there, leaning against the door for a few minutes, face in hand, trying to piece together what had just happened. How had he missed the signs? Sure, Chris had been coming onto him since they’d arrived in Sochi, but he came onto everyone, didn’t he? That was just his way. Victor never would have suspected that his best friend- maybe his only friend…

Or, no... That was a lie, wasn’t it? It wasn’t that Victor hadn’t guessed, but that he’d tried so hard to ignore it. It had been unpleasant to picture a moment just like this, looming over his head for years now, intensifying as it grew ever closer, like a thunderstorm. Just waiting for lightning to strike. And Victor had thought, if he could just ignore the rain for a bit longer…

The tension between them in the days that followed was unbearable. Victor told himself it was best to just avoid Chris for now. It was good that they had the competition to throw themselves into- body, mind, and spirit- and besides, stirring things up during crucial practice time could have thrown off Chris’s game. Victor would never forgive himself if Christophe missed the podium over something like this. (A… a misunderstanding, really.) That was what Victor told himself, but he was secretly relieved whenever he found Chris so vigorously engrossed in practice that he didn’t even seem to acknowledge the Russian skater’s presence in the rink.

Victor, meanwhile, found it difficult to keep focus. He was vaguely aware of Yakov’s usual exasperated scolding, for example, but none of the meaning was sinking in. He could resolve things with Chris later- explain… Explain what, exactly?

Was this just another thing that he had broken?

In spite of all his agonizing, in true Nikiforov fashion, once his blades had touched the ice, Victor became fully immersed in his performance once again.

_‘I hope you’re watching.’_

He allowed himself that one thought, and that was it; he skated a clean free program to Stammi Vicino and sealed his place as the gold medalist of the Sochi Grand Prix Final.

“Congratulations.”

Christophe had clambered down from the podium first, after the medals ceremony, extending an arm up to help Victor back onto the ice. Victor hesitated to meet his eyes for a second, but Chris was smiling at him as genuinely as ever.

“You too,” Victor’s heart swelled as he clasped Christophe’s arm and hopped down easily, feeling suddenly buoyant.

“You’d better stay sharp- I’m coming for that title of yours, next season,” Chris promised him, eyes sparking.

If he was uncertain of everything else, this was all Victor needed to be sure that everything was going to be alright between them.

“I’d like to see that,” Victor laughed in agreement. “Unless a newbie snatches it up from under our noses.”

“I’ll die before I let that happen. We need to have some dignity as veterans, you know-”

Somehow, like that, what had happened passed unspoken between them. But with the effects of the competition settling into his joints, Victor realized that he was completely emotionally exhausted and dreading the stuffiness and small-talk of the banquet now more than ever. He missed Makkachin. He just wanted to sleep, and wake up at the end of the next season.

But it was then, in that most unexpected moment, that Yuuri Katsuki entered his life.

_‘Yuuri, Yuuri…’_

Victor would smile wistfully at just the musical echo of his partner’s name in his head, gentle and comforting.

Yuuri. The first person to yell at Victor Nikiforov with such love. The first person to tell him flat-out when he was being insensitive. To not accept those superficial demonstrations of affection that the others had simultaneously demanded and despised.

The first person to tell Victor, “I want you to stay who you are.”

Victor had no playbook for this. It was challenging. It was terrifying. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He was happier than he had ever been before. But as he and Yuuri grew closer, a familiar sense of dread began to set in. Victor feared the pit beneath his feet would soon open up again, swallowing them both whole.

‘Coming out’ was not what Victor had expected.

It sort of- fell, unceremoniously, into his lap with the weight of his fiancé’s hips grinding insistently down on him, the pieces of their exhibition skate costumes littered recklessly across the floor of their Barcelona penthouse suite.

“Mm… Yuuri…” Victor moaned softly as Yuuri’s teeth grazed his ear.

“-Don’t _do_ that!” Yuuri snapped back in Victor’s lap in offense. His hips immediately stopped their movements. He grabbed Victor by the chin, and was staring fiercely into his eyes now, trying with all of his willpower to fight back the tears that were welling up in anger. “Please. I don’t want you to do that.” Yuuri’s intense gaze faltered a bit as he slid his hands gingerly down Victor’s chest and rested them there, all polite, feeling the pulse of Victor’s heart, which was unusually calm, for the situation.

“Do what, любимый?” Victor asked, looking shocked, hands twitching nervously at Yuuri’s sides. “What have I done wrong?”

Yuuri dragged a hand across his own forehead and let out a long, exasperated sigh, a single hot tear escaping from the corner of his deep brown eyes. He brushed it away impatiently.

“Nothing. I’m sorry. It’s just-”

Oh no. The tears were flowing now. _‘_ _Dammit-!_ _’_ Yuuri cursed himself. It had been such a long week. He took another sharp inhale, steadying himself.

“This means so much to me,” he exhaled.

Victor nodded along, hesitant, guilt creeping into his gut like nausea.

“I- I want to do this with you, but only if it means as much to you as it does to me,” Yuuri pressed on, determined. “Only if _I-_ ”

“Yuuri, of course-” Victor interrupted, catching on. “You mean everything to me. You are everything. How can you even doubt that-?”

“But it’s clear you’re not enjoying yourself. You’re not even hard, after all this time… I know I’m not very experienced, but I can’t handle you faking it. It feels like you’re laughing at me!”

Victor gritted his teeth. ‘ _No no no_ …’ He was sinking-

“That’s not-”

“We don’t have to do this tonight, if you’re tired. We don’t have to do anything. We can just go to sleep, if you want. Just promise me… I just need you to tell me if I’m not doing what you like, or else how am I supposed to be comfortable with any of this?”

Yuuri looked beyond strung-out, in more ways than one.

Victor’s shoulders dropped a little.

“You’re right, Yuuri. You’re always right.”

He reached his arms up around Yuuri, pulling him in close to his chest and squeezing tightly, stroking Yuuri’s hair and letting him squirm and wiggle until he found a position that didn’t further aggravate the painful ache between his thighs.

“Not always,” Yuuri scoffed playfully, and the sound was beautiful.

Yuuri let Victor drag them both down into the almost upsetting abundance of pillows piled up against the headboard, and breathed-in Victor’s scent deeply, urging his body to relax.

Once they had settled into each other’s arms and Victor could see the flush dissipating from Yuuri’s cheeks, he started to explain, with a wavering voice, everything about himself that he had not been able to verbalize until that moment. His former lovers, the emptiness that grew, the pit in his nightmares. The complication with Christophe. Yuuri listened attentively, first in confusion, then with eyes shining bright with clarity.

“So you’re asexual.”

“What?”

“Asexual!”

It was a word that Yuuri had picked up while at university in Detroit.

Victor wracked his brain for any kind of familiar definition. Finally he waved his hand frantically in Yuuri’s face.

“No, no, no. I have had sex before-”

“No, it’s- it’s not the same as being a virgin.” Yuuri felt embarrassed for some reason. “I mean, you don’t have to call yourself that, if you don’t want to. And, you can tell me if I’m wrong. But basically, it means that you…” He struggled with how best to summarize it. “You aren’t aroused by other people. Not just by themselves, anyways, I guess.”

Victor seemed to be mulling it over, reading Yuuri’s expressions very carefully.

“You know, I never would have suspected that you, of all people…” Yuuri suppressed a laugh, which he realized probably wouldn’t come across well right now. “But, actually, everything is starting to make a lot more sense.”

“Yuuri… are you disappointed?”

“No!” Yuuri assured. “I mean…” Victor was being vulnerable with him. Yuuri couldn’t let him down. “Maybe just a little, at the moment,” he admittedly sheepishly, adjusting the front of his briefs with a gentle tug. “But I’ll get over it. Besides, I’ve made it this long on my own just fine, haven’t I?” He gave a dry laugh. “Believe me, I’m more relieved than anything else right now. The most important thing to me is that you’re happy with how things are going, too. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He reached for Victor’s hand and tenderly wove their fingers together. “I just want you to be you, Victor.”

Victor felt an indescribable sense of fullness in his chest as he squeezed Yuuri’s hand back. Their rings clinked together softly with the motion.

“You know,” Victor murmured after a while of laying together, his voice strangely quiet, “It wasn’t all for show. Your tongue on my ear felt really nice…”

“Oh really?” Yuuri practically purred.

Victor nodded stoically.

“Well, if you ever want to do some more _thorough_ exploring, I’m sure I could find plenty of other places on your body that feel just as nice. Or better.”

Somehow, when Yuuri said it, it didn’t feel like a threat. Victor realized that was probably how it was supposed to be. He trusted Yuuri completely. He knew he would be safe in his hands. He wanted to give himself over to Yuuri, completely. But only in the ways that would make Yuuri, happy, too. No more pretense. This was too real; there was nowhere to hide.

Suddenly, Victor knew exactly what he wanted.

“Yuuri, are you still, ah…?”

Yuuri flushed again, a gorgeous dark red blossoming all over- all the way to the tops of his ears.

“Yeah. It’s… been a while. I haven’t had a chance to take care of myself lately, with the finals…” It felt a bit awkward to be laying there, aroused, with Victor just staring at him. Yuuri felt his face heat up even more at the thought.

Victor ran a broad hand over Yuuri’s side, his slightly cool fingers making Yuuri’s skin shiver, hungry for more contact, but Yuuri did his best to ignore the sensations now traveling through his abdomen like electricity, chastising himself for being so easy. It was just… Victor. Victor’s touch was _so_ … Yuuri tried to clear his thoughts, and he was putting in a valiant effort until Victor suddenly squirmed his way down the mattress, positioning himself at Yuuri’s lower belly, hovering just above his waistband, so close that Yuuri could feel the heat of Victor’s mouth.

“Victor-” Yuuri managed, voice broken.

Victor pressed a warm, slightly wet kiss to Yuuri’s hip, blue eyes watching him the entire time, observing the way Yuuri’s lips parted slightly and his hips twitched under Victor’s attention.

“I want to relieve you. With my mouth.”

Yuuri shuddered uncontrollably. There was something adorably un-suave about the way Victor said it, and under different circumstances, Yuuri might have teased him, but at the moment, Yuuri couldn’t have imagined a more enticing sentence coming from his fiancé.

“I want to suck you off. Can I?”

Except maybe that one.

Yuuri’s knuckles were turning white as he gripped Victor by the arm, trying to drag him up and away from his aching cock, which was now starting to stand up again, inside his humid briefs.

“Y- you don’t have to do that. I just said. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Yuuri’s dark eyes were pleading with Victor. If he hadn’t been listening before-

“I said, I want to.” Victor trailed his hands over Yuuri’s lower body to express his point, keeping _just_ out of reach of the proud tent forming between their bodies. Victor locked eyes with him again, and Yuuri would’ve thought Victor was the one being tortured. “Yuuri, please. I want to make you feel good. I love you…”

“I love you, too,” Yuuri replied, smiling a bit painfully. “You- you do make me feel good, every day-”

“You know what I mean,” Victor snorted in irritation, palming Yuuri’s balls through his shorts so roughly that Yuuri let out a loud gasp and melted back into the pillows. Victor kept at it, massaging with confidence until Yuuri thought he was going to burst.

“Ah…hh… Alright,” Yuuri hissed, already breathless, “If you’re sure y-”

Victor didn’t wait for him to finish, dipping his head to lick a slow, burning trail down the front of Yuuri’s body and wrapping his soft, hot mouth around Yuuri’s head where it was straining through the fabric.

“ohHH!” Yuuri’s eyes shot open wide and his mouth stuttered in a silent language as Victor worked his tongue all over, thoroughly wetting the boxers until they were clinging to Yuuri’s erection in a sticky mess of precum, saliva, and sweat.

“These are in the way.”

Victor flashed Yuuri the most devilish smile as he snapped the elastic band hugging one of Yuuri’s thick thighs so that it left a sharp pink mark. He leaned back for a second to observe the shaky, drooling mess of a man stretched out at his mercy. Knowing he’d done this to Yuuri- that Yuuri wanted him to- it was making Victor’s pulse race. He wasn’t sure how, yet, but it all felt _different_ with Yuuri.

Yuuri felt his cock throb under Victor’s gaze, oozing another thick stream of precum. Ohh no, this was no good… He was afraid that as soon as Victor touched him again, he would lose it- and he wanted this to last. He had to regain control, _now_.

“Why don’t you take them off with your teeth, then?” Yuuri huffed, as if it were a dare. He folded one of his arms behind his head and did his best to look comfortable, inching his hips closer to Victor’s face as he repositioned himself. He hadn’t expected Victor to comply so eagerly. “F-uck…”

“Mmnnn,” Victor hummed low in his throat, mostly for Yuuri’s benefit, as he slid his tongue under the elastic band, sliding slickly over the glowing pink mark beneath it, and sucking briefly at Yuuri’s hip crease, which was apparently a particularly sensitive spot (Victor made a note for later), before drawing the edges of the briefs into his mouth and dragging them agonizingly slowly over Yuuri’s swollen cock, down Yuuri’s hips to his trembling ankles. While he was there, Victor spent a minute brushing light kisses over Yuuri’s toes, sucking at the inside arches of his feet, which twitched and spasmed just like Yuuri’s cock under Victor’s tongue.

“Mmhh… **_good_** -!” Yuuri could hardly speak any more. He couldn’t think straight- he just wanted Victor’s mouth all over him. He wanted it to never stop. Thankfully, Victor had anticipated his next request and made his way back up, climbing slowly, worshipping what felt like every inch of skin on the way back to Yuuri’s begging arousal.

Victor tilted his head, fixing Yuuri with an unbreakable stare, and took Yuuri into his mouth, lips gliding effortlessly back and forth down Yuuri’s shaft, saliva running down and making faint streams across Yuuri’s pelvic bone, dripping over the side of his body and onto the sheets.

“-hh- _ohhh_ , yeah. _Fuckkk_...” Yuuri seemed frantic for something to tether himself to because he doubled over to tangle both hands roughly in Victor’s silver hair, attempting to guide him a bit at first but giving up when the mental effort required was too great, settling for bucking into Victor’s velvet mouth instead. “Mmm… yeah,” Yuuri whined. “That’s right… suck it. I want to cum in that pretty mouth, Victor-”

Victor made a sound between a choke and a groan at the base of his throat, and the vibrations it sent through Yuuri’s cock as Victor’s mouth closed tight around him, pulling the life out of him, had Yuuri practically ripping out Victor’s hair.

“Vic-tor, I can’-t-!” Yuuri let go with a hoarse scream, hips rocking mindlessly as he fucked himself into Victor’s obedient mouth, riding his orgasm until he felt faint, his hearing going wonky, as if someone were covering his ears with their hands... He forced his eyes back open in time to see Victor pull away sloppily from his spent cock, gagging a bit as he tried to swallow down Yuuri’s cum, even as some of it spilled out of his mouth and ran off of his chin, dripping onto his bare chest.

Victor scrunched up his nose at the unpleasant viscosity as he tried to brush the bottom of his face clean with the back of his hand. He didn’t think he could ever get used to the feeling of it coating his tongue. Yuuri interrupted him before Victor could quite get it all, dragging Victor close, carefully, but urgently, by the back of the neck until he could mash their mouths together for a needy kiss. Victor melted into the kiss. Even if it tasted like cum… Yuuri’s mouth was so warm, so open…

Victor exhaled heavily against Yuuri’s gasping mouth. His entire body was tingling.

“Mmm… Victor…” It took Yuuri a while to get the words out. “That was so good…”

The praise set Victor’s skin on fire.

“H-how’s your hair- uh-head? I’m sorry,” Yuuri mumbled, distracted, smoothing over Victor’s head with the gentlest of motions.

“It’s fine,” Victor replied, still running his hands all over Yuuri’s pudding-like form in awe. His scalp hurt, actually, from the near-violent hair-pulling at the end, but Victor didn’t mind at all. He even liked it, a little.

“Oh-” Yuuri let out a small sound, voice still breathy, as he felt Victor’s cock pressing into his inner thigh.

Victor flushed in a way Yuuri had never seen before, and Yuuri grinned, as if in triumph.

“Do you…want me to-? I’d be happy to help.” Yuuri willed his body to catch its breath quicker.

Victor just raised a hand, shaking his head, exhausted.

“That’s. That’s enough for me for now, thanks.” But he lifted Yuuri’s arms and placed them around his waist, and linked their bodies together again, chest to chest. Yuuri winced a bit, creating more space between their hips to protect his overstimulated member.

“How did you get so good at that?” Yuuri mumbled into Victor’s hair, unwilling to keep his eyes open now.

“Well, I have had lots of practice…”

Yuuri grunted quietly.

“But nothing ever quite as satisfying as that,” Victor soothed.

They held each other, neither one wanting to move to wash up, even as the hazy blue light of dawn started to break outside of the massive panel windows. Victor slammed his hand around on the bedside table until he found the switch for the automatic blinds, which lowered with a sleepy whirring sound, sealing the couple back into the comforting dark, where there was only their arms, their heartbeats, their breathing.

Yuuri had helped Victor to learn so much about himself in such a short amount of time… He was eager for Yuuri to unfold and explore the rest of him, to help him fill the spaces that had been empty before.


End file.
